


Midnight - The Prologue

by Faith_Hope_Love



Category: Nutcracker: The Motion Picture (1986)
Genre: Beginnings, Christmas Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Older Man/Younger Woman, romantic feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28329429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faith_Hope_Love/pseuds/Faith_Hope_Love
Summary: The opening scenes of Stowell and Sendak's 1986 film production of "The Nutcracker" in prose form.This is also the prologue to my short novella "The Toymaker's Wife". Enjoy. ;-) And Merry Christmas for 2020!
Relationships: Klara Stahlbaum/Herr Drosselmeyer
Kudos: 1





	Midnight - The Prologue

November 28th-29th, 1879:

Five minutes until midnight in a little town in the North of Germany, close to the Elbe. Not a cloud in the sky. A cold night and a full moon bathing the countryside in its soft light.

  
Pieter Drosselmeyer had been half asleep at his desk in his rooms on Hilgermannstrasse. Not that surprising, given that it had grown so dark; only a single candle alight in the room (the others had since melted away). All that could be heard was the rhythmic humming of the dozens of clocks that littered his workshop, and he found this unceasing sound to be comforting. Normally, at this hour of the evening he would normally be asleep, or better yet in his opinion, working. But he had been sitting there for some time now, lost in reverie. He had paid a visit to the Stahlbaum’s for dinner earlier that evening, where he and Frau Stalhbaum had stepped into the parlor for a few moments to quietly discuss what ideas he had for the children’s presents this coming Christmas. It happened that way every year, as a matter of course. As a wood carver, clock maker and toy maker, it was his specialty, after all. Granted, the holiday was still weeks away, but it was a major event for the Stahlbaums, who threw a lavish party for practically the whole town on Christmas Eve night – and his toys had been center stage for as long as he had been a member (of sorts) of the family. But he always had a surprise in mind for his Godchildren, Fritz and Klara, and wanted everything to be perfect. Yes, especially for Klara. Klarissa, as she’s called by her family and those who love her. She’s sixteen now, looking more beautiful every year. Growing and blossoming. Still shy, so gentle and a little timid at times, but in this past year, thought Drosselmeyer, we’ve grown so close and shared so many small, delicate moments; even when I’ve placed my hand on that soft skin of her own, she…

**Midnight**

One could get used to the sound of twenty or more of those things ticking in a small room, like one grew accustomed to the sound of one’s own heartbeat. But even for their creator, the sudden rising of chimes and bells when every timepiece struck the hour was enough to jolt him back to reality, if only gently.

Best not to take my thoughts down that route was the next notion that stopped whatever was coming next, once the ringing and clanging had died down, as if the clocks all around him knew his own mind better than him.

  
He took out his gold pocket watch, giving it a shake to check the time when he realized it was dead. Again. He made a mental note to mend it in future.  
He blinked, shook himself slightly, realizing that he had intended to sit down and sketch out a new gift for his Goddaughter and hadn’t moved a muscle. It was easy to fall into such a stupor when there was nothing and no one else to distract him. A couple of mice would find their way into his shop and he thought he had spied one out of the corner of his eye at some point that night, skittering about on the floor of his shop.  
The fact was that his loneliness was beginning to finally sink into his everyday existence: he was in his mid-thirties and never married, with only a very small handful of acquaintances or people who knew his name or even what he did. The empty, hollow center of Herr Drosselmeyer’s existence, which had never caused him any real concern, was now becoming distasteful to him. It wasn’t necessarily by choice, but the trajectory of his life up to this point had not made such things like matrimony easy for him and he didn’t want to dwell on that just now. No, not now. That was the past. He had far too much to keep him occupied now. Perhaps, he thought, his singularity of character is what drew Klara to him, for she was fond of him and did not hold back in showing it. No, she didn’t, did she? He hoped beyond hope that she might feel even stronger than he supposed. This, he knew, was a dangerous thought, an unthinkable proposition that should be left right alone. His own Goddaughter. But oh, when he remembered how they had bonded over the novel he had bought her to read in French (thank God he still remembered enough of it from his university days to read along with her) and how she had taken to the romantic ball scenes…how she did love dancing. Then there was the Arabian Nights and she had so many questions about life in the far east and he could only answer so many of them, so he had found a book with illustrations of pashas and dancing harem girls so that she…

Wait…

A light went on.

The creative muse had taken hold and all at once, he was roused out of his sulking contemplation and into action as he pushed away the bits of this and that crowding his desk. Out came the paper and a bit of dark chalk as he began drawing the very thing he knew might capture her fancy. This wasn’t any small bauble, not a doll as he made for her in childhood, not a small jewelry box or puzzle or by God, not even a clock. No, this was going to be a feat – a Christmas present to trump all before or after. A beautiful music box, a Sultan’s palace, the biggest he had ever made. His face was ablaze with smiles. While he drew and sketched in a flurry of light-hearted excitement to the point of giddiness, be made a mental note to tell Klara’s mother about this and to keep it a secret. He would need a bit of help getting this luxurious gift over to their home that night. Yes, yes weeks away, perhaps too early yet, but he wanted everything to go perfectly. This would be his talisman, his touchstone. This would grasp her own imagination and she would remember everything they had shared together over these last few years. It would be symbolized in every detail he was carving and painting and hammering and sculpting into this beautiful – and now, rather large – present. He laughed out loud, sitting there alone in his shop as one idea for his project dovetailed into another and he raised hand in jubilant victory. For he knew that when he opened the box and revealed the gift to her – then he might gauge her reaction, study her face, to see what she felt.

As he was setting the last piece into its place, he stopped; his imagination was swirling again and yet another concept was taking shape. There were many threads of thoughts that had weaved into one, and some of them were memories of his own past, what he was and what he had not been – and why he only possessed one eye. He wanted to find some way to show her, beyond the ornate palace, what dreams and fantasies he had churning in his heart. Right, there was one present left to finish – and for its completion, he would need a bit more than just the usual. There would need to be magic. He was thinking of an ocean, an island, a boat, clouds and mist…fairies, even…

  
He picked up a bottle of bright red paint, a block of wood and a knife.

The nutcracker prince was about to be born.


End file.
